"Monta? Why aren't you changed yet?" Sena looked over at his friend, who had his head stuck in his locker, hands in his duffel bag. The rest of the team was filtering out. Monta didn't respond, so Sena came over, trying to look over his shoulder, concerned.

"Monta--?"

"Mukyaaa, frustration MAX!"

Sena winced and covered an ear as Monta pulled back out of the locker, steaming. He was clinging to his jersey and staring at it like it was a dear friend who had turned up stealing from his bedroom. Sena looked at it, then Monta, in confusion. "What's--?" Then he looked again. The number 80 stood out black against faded red. Very faded. In fact, it was really closer to...

Oh.

"What happened, Monta?"

"Bleach! My mom tried to use bleach for the stains! She always used bleach for my baseball uniforms so she wasn't thinking about it!" Monta balled the jersey up in shaking hands. "What am I gonna do, Sena? I can't play in this!"

Sena had a brief, vivid mental image of Hiruma, bullets blazing and shouting about intimidation, and flinched. No, Monta really couldn't play in that.

The reciever hadn't stopped ranting, and was in fact now standing up on the bench. "Think of what people'll say! And Mamori-san! What'll Mamamori-san think, seeing me in this stupid color?!"

There was a sound from the door and Sena looked around with hair-triggered reflexes, expecting the familiar black, jagged silhouette. Instead, Musashi came in, looking around. He spotted a toolbox set in one corner and headed towards it. Sena started to try to pacify Monta, then did another double-take as Musashi leaned over, the sunlight from outside bright on his tank top.

"M-Monta..."

There was a long moment of silence as Musashi straightened up and headed back out. He paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder at the two younger boys, who were gaping at him incredulously.

"What?"

Monta leveled an accusatory finger at the errant kicker. "P-p-pi.."

Musashi looked down at his shirt. He usually wore white, Sena knew, but today, the tank top was a soft, watery pink color. The kicker shrugged. "Someboody's red ended up in the whites," he said simply, with his usual offhand deadpan. "Didn't have anything else clean." He turned again and walked out, then stuck his head back in the door, looking at Monta. "Just ask Hiruma about getting you another jersey. That guy always knows where to turn things up."

He closed the door and another few seconds passed quietly, Sena marveling to himself about Musashi's absolute, unflinching calm. Finally, he looked up at his friend. Monta was trembling on the bench, head bowed.

"Monta?" the runner ventured, never quite sure where these moments were going to go.

"Real man MAX!" Monta burst out, unfurling his jersey. "If Musashi can do it and not flinch, so can I! I can't miss practice just for this! What was I thinking?!"

Sena sighed and trotted towards the door before Hiruma could come looking for them.